Beneath an all night blanket blues, barefoot in the attic rooms, side one of Beggars Banquet blooms and, in the static hum, . summoning my Nicky Hopkins (juju, voodoo, déjà vu): my sole, rising, falling. The carpet drums. I woo the other Rolling Stones. . But someone seems to be missing. By the kettle in … Continue reading The Other Rolling Stones.
Z A beak of sleep, painted crudely on a tank, becomes tainted, reflected, a skewed boot, forever glancing off a surface; destructive and distasteful as O’Brien suggested. V Peace, askance, becomes a spade; a blade to dig a grave with; a tricky proposition in any city street. The school of matter over mind: predictive. Letters … Continue reading Face/Value
Jackdaws and witches tapping watches, stripping you to the bone. Some still can't say your name without stretching all the wrong vowels. I hear your voice, I'm ankle-deep in Bluebells. My red penknife unfolds. I'm scratching your initials. * Trap-doors every Monday morning. Cornflowers, my boots are soiled. The great birds, they are clapping the … Continue reading Jackdaws & Witches #dVerse #poetry
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